Part 7 (1/2)

HER s.h.i.+NING RED HAIR SPILLED OVER HER.

SHOULDERS AS SHE LEANED IN, WATCHING MORAN.

UNWRAP THE BODY: TALISIN, HIS BLACK.

MOUSTACHE EVEN BLACKER AGAINST HIS ICE-.

WHITE SKIN. THE BACK OF HIS HELM WAS SPLIT IN.

HALF.

MORAN SAID DULLY, ”THE GREATEST.

SWORDSMAN SINCE BRIGHTBLADE, KILLED BY A.

THROWN AXE.”.

HE TURNED ON HER, SHAMED BY THE STING OF.

TEARS IN HIS EYES. ”MEND THE ROBE, PATCH THE.

CAPE, GIVE HIM NEW LEGGINGS - EVERYTHING.

HE'LL BE ENTOMBED WITH HIS FAMILY; HE'S.

n.o.bLE, AND A HERO, AND THE BEST - ” MORAN.

COULDN'T TALK ANYMORE.

LORAINE, SURPRISINGLY STRONG, ROLLED THE.

CART INSIDE BY HERSELF. SHE QUICKLY.

MEASURED THE BODY AND FIGURED CLOTH AND.

LABOR COSTS WHILE MORAN STOOD BY, EMPTY.

WITH GRIEF.

”COME BACK IN TWO DAYS,” SHE SAID.

AS HE TURNED TO GO, SHE LAID HER HAND ON.

HIS ARM. ”AND COME BACK OFTEN AFTER THAT.”HE NOTICED HOW CLEAR HER EYES WERE, HOW.

SOFT HER VOICE COULD BE. ”YOU'LL NEED TO.

TALK, AND I - ” SHE LOOKED SUDDENLY.

EMBARRa.s.sED AND STRAIGHTENED HER GOWN,.

PATTED HER HAIR OVER HER EARS. ”YOU'RE LIKE.

NO ONE I'VE MET. I LOVE STRANGE PLACES AND.

STRANGE MEN.”.

AS HE LEFT, HE HEARD HER SINGING, IN A.

CLEAR, YOUNG VOICE, ” 'RETURN HIS SOUL TO.

HUMA'S BREAST ...' ” MORAN HAD SUNG THE SONG.

HIMSELF, IN A VOICE CRACKED WITH GRIEF, TWO.

DAYS AGO.

TO HIS SURPRISE, HE CAME BACK TO SEE HER.

WITHIN A WEEK AFTER THE FUNERAL.

On the front wall of the cla.s.sroom hung a tapestry (on loan from the permanent gallery of the city fathers) picturing knights riding silver and gold dragons, aiming lances at red dragons and riders. The dragons, woven in metal thread, glittered disturbingly in the grim gray hall.

The novices were excited. Two of them were leaping benches in mock swordplay, and almost all of the rest were ringed around the term's first fight: two boys, rolling on the floor.

Moran strode into the room, carrying two breastplates.

The boys froze in place, then drifted to seats. Tarli's lower lip was bleeding. Another novice - Saliak, Moran noted - had b.l.o.o.d.y knuckles.

Oh-ho, Moran thought. It's starting already. He walked in silence to the flat table below the tapestry and turned to face the novices, who were now sitting quietly on the low wooden benches. Only Tarli, sitting apart from the others, was too short for his feet to touch the floor.

Two other novices sat apart: the ungainly tall boy, and the fat one. Moran, from long experience, knew that the three would be targets in the barracks.

He slammed one of the breastplates on the table. It clanged loudly. All the boys jumped.

”This,” he said coldly, ”is the armor of a Knight of the Sword. The hole you see was made in combat, by a lance.”

This,” he said, slamming the second breastplate on the table, ”was worn in the last week of drill by a novice, training to become a squire. The hole was made in practice, by a lance.

”The holes are exactly alike. So were the wounds - both fatal.”

In the silence that followed, a number of boys glanced at each other nervously.

”Can a lance really go through armor like that?” Tarli asked with interest.

Silently, Moran turned the breastplates around, showing the small exit holes the lance points had made.

One of the novices gagged.